Smoke and Barbed Wire
by s1ncer1ty
Summary: Oh no! I've resorted to a... a... ~holiday fic~! *sobs* There's eggnog and Izzy/Joe friendship bits contained within. Merry whatever, FFN.net readers!


*** Notes: Well, this story has been milling about in my head for a short while now. With all these Christmas ficcies, I figured why not do something a little different, yet still keep with the holiday spirit? Though I do want to give a small disclaimer in that I'm not Jewish, but I tried my hardest to keep things as authentic as I could. My apologies if I've mistaken any traditions... I did my best to research things before writing out the tale. Be patient -- the sentiment is there, if nothing else. 

Oh, yeah, and the Digidestined are from America in this tale, just... because. I said so. I also putzed around with a couple names, but I'm sure it'll all make sense in the end. o.o *** 

* * *

Smoke and Barbed Wire

I stood stiffly with my back to the wall as my friends surrounded the oversized Christmas tree which filled a good portion of Mimi's high-ceilinged flat. Tai and Sora bickered about the best way to place tinsel on the tree -- Tai throwing clumps of it haphazardly across the branches, while Sora strung the thin strips of foil one piece at a time. TK and Kari knelt before a large box of ornaments, dusting them off carefully before handing them to the taller kids to hang on the branches. Matt stood precariously atop a ladder, attempting to balance a frilly, white angel atop the pine behemoth.

The evening before, the sky opened up and it had snowed, blanketing Boston with several inches of fluffy white cold. Because of the sheer amount of snow and the proximity to the Christmas holiday, school had been canceled, which spurred Mimi into calling an impromptu gathering to decorate the tree. But Kari brought eggnog, while Tai supplied a few bags of chips, and in the end it turned into an unexpected party, complete with frozen hors d'erves and perky Christmas music filling the background with CD-quality cheer.

Looking over the group, I couldn't help but feel somewhat envious of their good cheer. I drained my mug of eggnog and glanced at my watch. It was growing close to sunset, and I needed to be getting home soon. For a moment, I gazed morosely at the white porcelain mugs decorated with an embossment of holly leaves, and then I pushed aside the door to the kitchen. Mimi would have enough cleaning up to do, especially after Tai got through with the tinsel, and I wanted to save her the trouble of washing out my glass.

As I walked into the spacious expanse of Mimi's kitchen, which was well-decorated with Santa towels and large red bows on the cabinets, I saw Joe standing before the stove, taking out another tray of fancy frozen wiener-dogs wrapped in puff pastry. I forced a smile as I made my way to the sink.

"Hey, Joe," I said. "Why aren't you out there helping everyone decorate the tree?"

Joe placed the sheet of pastries on the top of the stove and took off the Santa-shaped oven mitt which Mimi had provided. He shrugged once, smiling, and replied, "How's it going, Izzy? Oh, the pine needles aggravate my sinuses. Besides, I wouldn't want the food in the oven to burn. Tai and Matt would probably have my neck if they couldn't eat." 

"Yeah, I don't think either of them would be too happy." I turned on the water at the sink, squeezing soap from a Christmas-decorated soap dispenser onto a pine-shaped sponge.

"What about you? Why aren't you out there?" Joe asked, his eyes glittering curiously behind his glasses.

I shook my head as I washed off my mug and proceeded to scrub several other mugs left in the sink. "I have to be getting home soon. My family is expecting me. My grandfather flew in from New York, so he wants me to be home tonight." With a quiet sigh, I finished washing the remainder of the mugs, placing them into the green dishrack. "Mimi sure goes all-out for Christmas, doesn't she?" 

Joe smiled, leaning his back up against the counter. "It's that time of year when it's okay to go all-out. My brother and I strung those annoying icicle lights all across the apartment window the other night, and then we decorated the tree. Plastic, of course."

"Sounds like fun," I murmured half-heartedly and started for the door. "Well, I've got to be going. Have a good evening."

Joe looked at me, his brow furrowing slightly, but he nodded. "Merry Christmas, Izzy. Give your family my regards."

I paused in the doorway, turned, and gave Joe a small smile. "I will . Happy holidays, Joe."

By the time I'd walked into the living room, Tai had decorated the floor surrounding the tree with mounds of tinsel. At least Matt had placed the angel on top of the tree without killing himself on the ladder. I cleared my throat quietly and grabbed my coat from the coathooks near the front door, and Mimi immediately gave up her conversation with Sora, commiserating about "male" troubles most likely, to hurry to my side.

"Leaving so soon?" she asked, batting her large, brown eyes at me from beneath an oversized Santa hat. 

I nodded solemnly and wrapped a grey colored scarf around my neck. "I've got things to do," I replied.

"Are you having a bad time?" she asked, a faint wrinkle appearing in her forehead.

Blinking, I shook my head quickly. "Oh, no, it's not that at all, Mimi," I replied. "I'm just expected home for the holidays. My grandfather is in town. And I have to be home before it gets too dark."

Mimi gave a relieved smile and nodded. "Okay, then. Have a merry Christmas, Izzy. Thanks for stopping by."

I gave her an awkward hug, and said my goodbyes to the rest of the gang. It was with a sense of relief that I finally managed to escape the apartment, swiftly trotting down the stairs into the biting cold of the night. I could have easily caught the T home, but instead I decided to forego public transportation and walk the ten blocks home. The snow was still falling, and my boots left fresh tracks in the white carpet that covered the sidewalk.

****

My cheeks were red and my nose ran slightly by the time I managed to walk through the door to the third story apartment I shared with my parents. As I made my way into the candlelit warmth, I could smell the brisket in the oven, in addition to the familiar scent of oil as mom pan-fried the potato latkes on the range. I squirmed out of my boots, leaning against the doorframe for support, and hung my coat, hat, and scarf on the coatrack.

"Izzy? Is that you, dear?" Mom called out from the kitchen.

"Yes, Mom, I'm home," I replied.

"Well, come say hello to your grandfather. Supper's almost ready."

I ran a hand through my mussed hair before making my way into the dining room, where Grandfather already sat at the head of the table, a cane supported by his chair. The wizened face broke open into a smile as he saw me approach, and I leaned down to give the old man a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Ah, Isidore, is good to see you again," he said, his voice thick with an Austrian accent. "My boy, your hands are so cold. Do you not have gloves for when you're outside?"

Pulling out a seat next to my grandfather, I sank my small frame onto the cushion. "I must have left them at Mimi's. Honestly, I didn't notice."

"Then you must have this girl return your gloves," Grandfather said, casting a critical eye on me. "Is important for a young man to keep warm, especially in such a cold city."

I smiled faintly and nodded. "I'll call her tomorrow, Grandfather. How have you been holding up? Are they treating you well in New York?"

The old man shrugged, his dry lips parting in a grin. "There's good days and bad days, my boy. But no matter what the day, I make sure to walk to the grocer's for a little something, even if just for a sandwich or a bottle of milk."

Grandfather and I made small talk until supper was served, and after we ate we waited for the sun to set completely before lighting the menorah. We said our prayers, and contemplated the mysteries of the season that my friends could never quite understand. Not completely, as wrapped up as they were in the Christmas holiday. 

***

That night, I stood before the mirror in my room, gazing at my pale face, the dark eyes, the odd red hair contrasted sharply by the black yarmulke atop my head. I'd never thought of it as a distinctly Jewish face, not by stereotypical -- and often offensive, to me -- standards anyway. I tried to imagine what it would be like if my head were shaven completely, my eyes and cheeks sunken from hunger. It was almost something I couldn't bear to think about; yet my mind focused on it in a masochistic sort of way. 

_If I'd been born fifty years ago, if I'd been a brother or a friend to Grandfather, I'd have gone through his hell. I would have _had _to contemplate it,_ I thought to myself inwardly. _Grandfather was my age when he was taken..._

"You look so sad, Izzy," my mother's voice intoned over my shoulder, breaking me from my reverie. "What's got you down?"

I shook myself from daydreams of smoke and barbed wire, and I turned to face the concerned eyes of my mother. I laughed quietly, shrugging. "Christmas blues, I suppose," I replied.

"I know it's not always easy, dear," my mother replied, settling herself down onto the blue comforter on my bed. "It's difficult when you're left out of something popular, something that everyone else is doing."

Furrowing my brow, I gave my head a light shake, and I flopped down on the bed next to my mom. "No, I don't think it's that exactly, Mom. My friends all seem to assume that I celebrate Christmas, just like them. That everything revolves around trees and music and eggnog. I don't want to be a part of their world -- I wish they could be part of mine."

"Have you told them?"

Shaking my head, I turned my dark eyes away. "Well, no, it's not exactly easy saying to people, 'Oh, sorry, I can't accept your wish of a merry Christmas because I'm Jewish.'"

"It's not that difficult, Izzy. I certainly don't think your friends will condemn you for your faith. Why don't you invite them over Sunday evening?" she asked, suddenly smiling. "I'll make some good things to eat, and you and your grandfather could tell stories of the season."

I gave my mother a small smile. It seemed a little corny, but maybe it could get me out of whatever funk I was in. "I suppose a gathering could be productive," I said.

"Excellent, Izzy," said Mom, rising to her feet as she lightly patted my leg. "It'll be okay. The holidays are a time for togetherness, no matter what you celebrate."

I turned over onto my side, facing the wall and sighing quietly to myself. My mother, ever the idealist. Her smiling cheer was just a facade to mask a pain she herself had felt due to her faith, when she'd once been denied access to the country club post-prom party on the sole basis of her religion.

***

Tai was the first person I called the next morning, after I'd brushed my hair and checked my email. 

"What?" he'd gasped, incredulously, after I asked him to join me for a gathering at my place on Sunday. "You've got to be kidding me, Izzy."

"Why's that?" I asked, my brow furrowing lightly in confusion.

"I have to go to Mass Sunday evening," Tai grumbled from his end of the phone.

"It doesn't sound as if you want to go."

"Sora's tagging along with us," he muttered. "I think she _likes _me."

"And why's that such a bad thing?"

"Duh, Izzy, she's a_ girl!"_

"I ... see."

"But thanks for the offer anyway, Izzy. Maybe if it weren't on a night when we had to go to church..."

"No, I understand, Tai. It's okay."

I hung up with an inward sigh. That ruled out three people right there -- Tai, Sora, and Tai's sister Kari. I rang Matt next, only to discover that he and his brother TK had to travel to the country to visit their grandmother that night.

"She's deaf, and she's always mixing me and TK up," Matt complained.

"But she's your grandmother," I replied. "She's family, and it can't be all that bad."

"Well," Matt conceded, thinking aloud over the phone, "she does cook really well. I do look forward to her pierogies every year. No one makes them quite like my grandmama." At that, I smiled to myself, knowing that Matt would never tell just anyone that he called his grandmother 'grandmama.'

Next, I called Mimi, only to reach her answering machine. "Hi, you've reached the Tachikawa residence! We've flown off to Cancun for the holidays, but if you'd leave us a message, we'll get back to you in a week! Hasta la something!"

That left only Joe, but by then I'd just about lost my heart. It was last minute, and it was too close to Christmas. No wonder no one was able to join me for the evening. I called Joe merely out of obligation, knowing the boy would have been offended if I hadn't called him anyway.

"Hey, uh, Joe, I was wondering something," I said when I got him on the line. "Are you doing anything Sunday evening?"

"Not that I'm aware of, no. Just wrapping a few presents, but that's about all," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I'd wanted the gang to come by for a little holiday gathering," I said quickly, "but no one seems to be free. I know it's last minute, and no one else from our group of friends is coming, but if you wanted to stop by for a while, you're quite welcome."

"I'd love to stop by," Joe replied, sounding somewhat pleased. "Is there anything you might want me to bring?"

"Just yourself," I said. "Mom's going to cook. And with just you coming, it won't be too difficult a job for her."

"Okay. Um... As long as there's no shellfish in what your mom's cooking. Shellfish makes my throat close up."

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "You don't need to worry about that at all, Joe."

***

Sunday evening, Joe rang the doorbell to the apartment, with several red-wrapped presents contained in a shiny bag at his side. "Merry day before Christmas, Izzy," he said, grinning a little as I let him in.

Again, I gave him the now-standard greeting of, "Happy holidays, Joe. Glad you could make it, even if it's just the two of us."

"Well, I wanted to stop by and give you your present, anyway," he remarked with a wry grin, glancing about the apartment with a small degree of wonder. 

Maybe he's wondering where all the Christmas decorations are, I thought to myself. 

"Good evening, Joe," my mother called in from the kitchen, where she was still preparing a few snacks for the night. 

"Happy holidays, Mrs. Izumi," said Joe. He then turned to me with a faint, apologetic grin. "I was wondering if you'd gotten a real tree for Christmas or not. But since I'm not sneezing, I guess it's safe to say you don't have a real one." 

I shifted uncomfortably, hands sliding to my pockets, and I shrugged. "We don't have a tree at all, actually."

"Didn't want to bother, or..." Joe trailed off, gazing at me with a wrinkled brow.

"We don't celebrate Christmas. This was supposed to be a Hanukkah gathering," I murmured.

Joe's brows raised, and he stared at me, shocked for a moment. "Why didn't you tell us, Izzy? Is that why you were moping all throughout Mimi's Christmas party?"

I shrugged slowly. "Everyone just seemed to assume that I celebrate Christmas just like the rest of them."

"Well, you didn't say anything about it otherwise," Joe said, a small frown starting to form on his face.

"I shouldn't have to," I murmured defensively.

From the living room, Grandfather's strongly accented voice broke through our bickering. "Boys, boys, stop your fighting. Isidore, Joseph, come in here, please."

Joe raised a brow, murmuring, "Isidore?"

I nudged him in the ribs with my elbow. "Shut up."

Grandfather's eyes were hard as the two of us crept towards him. I, for one, was feeling humbled, knowing that in a short amount of time, we'd managed to anger the old man. His glare rested on the two of us for a few long, interminable moments, before he smiled at us sadly. 

"There is no need to fight. Not over such a small issue."

"I know, Grandfather," I murmured softly. "I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry, little Isidore. I wish to tell to the two of you a story, of Hanukkah past," my grandfather said, settling back in his large, comfortable chair.

As Joe and I both folded our legs to sit before him, I said softly, "The tale of how Hanukkah came to be?" It was a story I could have told from rote, myself. 

Grandfather shook his head. "No, my boy. I speak of a tale not quite so long ago. Give it fifty years, back when I was a young lad, only two years older than you are now."

"You'd have been my age, then," Joe interjected quietly, the soft light from the room reflecting off the lenses of his glasses.

"Perhaps so, little one. It all seems so long ago, yet still like it was yesterday..."

Mother stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron and watching on with sad eyes as my grandfather began his tale.

***

"I was but twelve when they took me to the camps. They separated me from my mother, from my sisters. Further in, they separated me again from my little brother, whom I never saw again. They took all that we had, shaved our heads. They took my father's glasses, and tattooed our skin with their markings. Within a month, all my father and I had left was each other.

"The work was so hard, my boys. We would break rocks, and then we would move rocks. If we tripped or if we slowed, we were beaten badly. Or worse. It was because of one of those beatings that I was never able to walk well again. But Papa and I were each other's strength despite the starvation and the disease.

"There was a young man in our barrack, an idealist named Moshe. He couldn't have been more than twenty, but he was outspoken and he was well-liked. Through him, those who did not have anyone to lean upon, like my Papa and I had, would find the courage to make it through another day. 

"One night, young Moshe announced to us, 'Tonight, my friends, is Hanukkah. Let us give our thanks.' It had been so long that none of us knew whether or not it truly was the first night of the festival of lights, but we all so trusted Moshe that none disputed his judgment there. 

"No, instead, they protested his words. 'What is there to be thankful for?' shouted one man. Another cried out, 'We cannot celebrate! We have no matzoh, no oil, not even a spark to light a fire!'

"But Moshe stood firm. 'Are we not alive? Are we not all brothers? We may not have lights or matzoh, but we still breathe. We can all see the stars at night, and we will all wake up tomorrow to see another sun.'

"The prisoners within the barrack agreed, and we decided that, if nothing else, we could pray. Moshe leaned down to me and whispered, 'Young Izumi, will you lead us in our prayer?' 

"That night, the twenty of us prayed. Some wept, including my Papa, for his separated family. I think I was crying a little myself. For seven more nights, we prayed, and although we had no gifts to give one another, although we had no bread to share or even a candle to warm our fingers by, we had each other. We had the holiday, and we had the love of God. 

"Not all of us made it out from the camp, but those of us that did never forgot the eight nights of prayer. It reminded us that, despite all our hardship and suffering, we were still a united people. We were still strong, and we would overcome."

***

Joe's eyes were wide the entire time Grandfather was speaking, and when the old man finished, he whispered, "Whatever happened to Moshe? Did he make it out alive?"

Grandfather shook his head, his eyes glittering in the light. "No, he was shot several days before the Allied forces granted us our freedom. Our oppressors had wanted to break him, but he refused to be broken. When the news came that they had lost the war, they purged the camp as much as they could, and Moshe was one of those victims."

"What about the rest of your family, Grandfather?" I whispered. 

"My mother and one sister survived, as did my Papa. We were luckier than a lot of men, who'd lost everything, all possessions, all family."

"Oh, Grandfather..." I whispered.

"And you boys bicker about who should have told what." Grandfather's voice took on a slight edge once again. "Isidore, are you not proud to be who you are?"

"Of course I am, Grandfather. I didn't mean to seem ashamed, or that I was not proud of my heritage."

Grandfather settled back in his chair with a small sigh. "You're a good boy, Isidore. Now, it is sunset. Will you lead us in our prayer?"

Mother and I helped Grandfather to his feet, and Joe watched over my shoulder as I donned my yarmulke. Closing my eyes, I lit the first candle, and I spoke aloud the Hebrew prayer. It was the fourth night, so I lit four candles from the first, and the light from the menorah shone from the window so the passers-by below could see it clearly.

***

At the end of the night, Joe and I sat together on the couch, crunching on my mother's potato latkes and watching a movie on television. During one of the commercial breaks, I cleared my throat and murmured to Joe, "Hey. I'm sorry I didn't tell anyone earlier about, you know, things."

"No worries, Izzy. I'm sorry that I assumed as much as I did. Not everyone celebrates the same things."

"Yeah," I said with a small smile. "I think I was a little afraid, too, of what others would think."

Joe shrugged. "I don't think it's that big a deal. So you go to pray on Saturday instead of Sunday. And you don't eat shellfish. Heck, neither do I." He grinned slightly. "Besides, it's not the holiday itself that counts, but the sentiment behind it."

As the movie came back on, my eyes turned from Joe back to the television, and I murmured, "Merry Christmas, Joe."

"Happy Hanukkah, Izzy." 

I smirked. "Merry whatever."

"Yeah. Exactly."

The candlelight from the menorah flickered, the flames long and orange, looking as if they would burn on their own forever. 


End file.
